Fools Rush In
by Tea55
Summary: Dean and Castiel are searching for a weapon to kill Lucifer with. Things don't go according to plan. Dean/Castiel, oneshot.


**D****isclaimer:** Not mine, Kripke's.

**Summary:** Dean and Castiel are searching for a weapon to kill Lucifer with. Things don't go according to plan.

**Rating: **M

**FOOLS RUSH IN**

Dean has self-control, of course he does, lately more than ever, but sometimes it fails him. Sometimes his hands or mouth are still quicker than his mind, but most of the time he only gets two very similar exasperated stares in return. It makes him wonder if Sam and Castiel are practicing their glaring in unison.

Sometimes, Dean isn't so lucky, and the consequences aren't innocent. Not by a long shot.

But he's not psychic, nor is his name Chuck Shirley, so he doesn't have a clue that pulling out a sword from it's resting place – not stone, and that kinda saddens him a little, just some tacky stand which might have been shiny once upon a time, but is now nothing more than a rusty piece of crap – would be a bad thing. Even when he hears Castiel's panicked voice, shouting, "Dean, no!"

Dean pulls it out anyway. It's the freaking reason why they've come to this cave in the first place. To find a weapon capable of killing Lucifer. And that's what Dean actually lives and breathes for these days. Ending the war. Finally stopping the daily horrors he is also responsible for. And he doesn't really care how it's not all his fault. He was the one who had started it, and he'll damn well be the one to finish it.

So maybe, Dean wasn't completely innocent of knowingly ignoring Castiel's shouted warning, because the damn thing was there, just a step away, calling out to him. Hell, Dean was almost able to feel it, to feel his hand wrapped around it, and the need to touch it, to finally have it in his grasp was much stronger than the voice in his mind, suggesting that Castiel doesn't usually sound so freaked out, and how keeping his hands away from the sword might not be such a bad idea.

For one long moment nothing happens. Dean simply stares at the weapon in his hand, completely oblivious to anything and everything, aware only of the feeling of relief at the thought that they finally have it. After following all those false leads, after a string of disappointments and failures, they're now only a step away from killing Lucifer. Admittedly, a big step, but a step nonetheless.

Dean should've known better. Should've expected something bad to happen. After all, getting here had been so damn easy, one angel teleportation, and voila, one Lucifer killing sword to go, please. Simple and clean.

Turns out, not so much. Instead of a quick exit, followed by a night of celebration involving obscenely large quantities of booze – Dean's not sure, but he suspects it would take a lot to get Castiel drunk, and that's what his plans entail – what actually happens is bizarre and unexpected enough to leave Dean frozen on the spot, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the fucking sword just exploded in his hand, turning into a shower of something that looks almost like yellow confetti but softer, covering both him and Castiel from head to toe.

"What the fuck," Dean starts, too confused to be angry, tentatively touching the soft, unidentified substance, accidentally smearing it along his skin. Blinking, he looks up, all his questions freezing on his lips at the sight of horror on Castiel's face.

Dean swallows, his mind already conjuring up pretty gruesome images of his body starting to decompose as some exotic poison eats away at him because he was too fucking stupid to interpret the word 'no'. But then Castiel closes his eyes, and a look of pain crosses his features a second before he falls down onto his knees, and Dean's mind is suddenly a blank slate, his stomach full of lead and his heart stops cold in his chest.

Dean is on pretty intimate terms with death. Hell, he's even on a first name basis with a reaper, but he never once thought about putting Castiel into the same context with death. Or leaving, because Dean's mind – when it happened, Dean has no clue – has decided that Castiel is his. His angel, and people don't lose their guardian angels, even if said guardian angel claims he's not here to perch on his shoulder. And Castiel never really did the perching thing. But he has become pretty damn good at guarding since the beginning of the war.

This realization really comes in the worst possible moment, because Dean knows that angels can die. And the way Castiel looks now – pale and shivering on his knees, his eyes wide and frightened – makes him think he might not be the one in danger here. Which, somehow, is worse. A helluva lot worse.

That's what finally makes Dean move, and he's standing by Castiel's side in a matter of seconds. He tries to do something, even if it's only help Castiel sit up or lie down, anything really, but the way Castiel scrambles away from him, almost falling down in his hurry to get away, all the while looking at Dean's outstretched hand as if it's something poisonous, stops Dean cold.

"It's okay, Cas," Dean whispers soothingly, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, his mind desperately trying to work out what the fuck he just did. "I'm not going to touch you, but I need to know what the hell just happened."

Castiel looks at him. Just looks at him, and Dean can see how desperately he's trying to calm down, but the horror in his eyes doesn't lessen. Dean has seen Castiel beaten and bloody, he's seen him worried and frightened before, but this, now, it's a whole new level of terrified and honestly, it freaks him out. Especially because he's the one who couldn't keep his fucking hands to himself.

"Cas, I don't know what's wrong with you, but you're seriously freaking me out," Dean says, trying to keep his voice calm, but it's hard. He's used to this situation being the other way around. Usually, it's Castiel telling him how he's not to blame for the war, or listening silently to Dean's angry rants and bitter accusations. Even wiping blood off Dean's face and hands because Dean can't do it himself, can't because his hands are shaking. "Come on, Cas, how can I help you if I don't know what is wrong?"

"There is nothing you can do, Dean," Castiel whispers finally, not even looking at Dean. Instead he's staring at some imaginary spot ahead, but the sound of his voice – broken and lost – makes Dean think of a small child. And that's just wrong.

"Then get us out of here and to someone who can," Dean suggests, proud of how calm and controlled he sounds, even if it's not even close to how he feels.

"I cannot do that, Dean," Castiel says, moving his eyes toward Dean's face, and Dean wishes he'd kept on staring ahead, because now he can see Castiel's eyes, can see resignation and weariness in them, everything about that expression screaming surrender, and even though Dean still doesn't know what this is all about, he's pretty fucking sure he doesn't like it. "But you should leave. You _must _leave," Castiel corrects himself, and Dean frowns at the word must, especially at the strength behind it. "Now, before it becomes too late."

It's not easy to render Dean speechless, but that's exactly what happens after Castiel's last, ominous statement. It doesn't last long. It never takes him long to go from shocked to pissed off, but it takes him just one look at Castiel's slumped body to swallow his initial reaction.

"Listen, Cas," Dean says resolutely. "First, there's no way in hell I'm leaving without you. Second, even if I wanted to leave, I'd only get lost in this freaking maze. And third, will you just tell me what the fuck was in that yellow stuff? It's not some angelic poison, is it?" He asks carefully, only vaguely aware that he's holding his breath.

"It is not poison, but something worse. Much worse."

"Worse than poison?" Dean asks blankly. "How?"

"It binds me inside this body," Castiel's words are little more than a breath, and Dean can't help but note how he's still shaking. "Now, I'm little more than a human myself."

"Okay, you can't work your angel mojo, that's bad, I get it. Now we have to get out of here the hard way. But come on, Cas, it's not that bad being almost human for a while," Dean says, a small grin twisting his lips, but it quickly turns into a frown when he realizes something. "It_ is _only 'til that stuff wears off, right?"

"The effects are not permanent, but," Castiel's words come to an abrupt halt, and Dean's eyes widen in wonder when Castiel bows his head, but not before he spots two red stains blossoming on Castiel's cheeks. Blushing? Why would an angel have to blush? Although, it does look kinda cute on him. A nice change from his usual impassive expression.

"But?" Dean says when Castiel stays silent. Biting back a growl of frustration, Dean takes a deep breath; sure that this is worse than pulling teeth without anesthetic. It's been a long time since Castiel spoke to him in his cryptic, half answers; and Dean has already forgotten how maddening it can be.

"There is a side effect," Castiel says, his words more a sigh than anything else.

"What kind of a side effect?" Dean asks, unconsciously taking a step backward. He doesn't know why, but his mind promptly supplements him with a picture of Castiel growing fur, his limbs stretching as a werewolf takes the place of the almost-human standing on the other side of the cave, but then a soft whisper breaks the uncomfortable silence, and Dean stops his retreat.

"Sexual desire," Castiel says, not looking at Dean.

Dean blinks. "Come again?"

"Lust, physical desire for intimacy with another person," Castiel says, his voice low and hoarse, and _now_ he decides to look at Dean which is kinda bad, because Dean's mind suddenly stops sending him pictures of Castiel turning into a werewolf, but the images don't stop, they just become different. And more than a little bit disturbing, but he manages to cut off this particular train of thought at the picture of Castiel slowly unbuttoning his shirt, all the while looking at him with an unblinking stare. "Craving for the joining of..."

"Okay, okay, I get it. It makes you horny," Dean says, and now he's the one who has problems with looking directly at Castiel. But, seriously, if Castiel ever decides to quit his job as a soldier of the Lord, he could make a successful career in phone sex, because he has just the right voice for it – rough and low… and just when did it become so hot in here? Shaking his head in a semi successful try at clearing his mind, Dean suddenly becomes aware how that sticky, yellow substance is still clinging to his clothes and his skin. "Oh, fuck," he breathes out. This is so not good. "Cas, does this stuff work on everyone?"

"No, just my kind, it won't have any effect on you," he says, an edge of something – despair? frustration? – in his voice. "Dean, now that you know, will you leave?"

"Well, honestly, Cas, this is turning into a pretty freaky conversation even for my standards, but what's done is done, and I can deal with you getting horny, but I see no reason for us to separate now. Especially because that stuff has weakened you," Dean says, forcing himself to smile, trying to sound like this isn't a big deal, like his stomach isn't doing strange flip-flops while his heart does its best to jump out of his chest. Like he isn't trying to stop his eyes from wandering from Castiel's face to the angel's southern regions.

Castiel shakes his head, the look on his face becoming more desperate with every second. "Dean, feeling this isn't something I am accustomed to. To need something this much," when Castiel cuts himself off, Dean has to swallow because his throat feels like the freaking Sahara, but the way the word need had fallen from Castiel's lips – laden with despair and the very emotion hiding behind it – sends a shiver of something that's not dread down his spine. Not even close to dread. "Especially this. Sexual gratification is foreign to my kind, and in normal circumstances I can control what this body desires, but not now."

"So what you're saying…" Dean starts, but he can't make himself say the words; _any warm body would do now, willing or not_. All the more because he's the one who got Castiel into this mess. But he doesn't have to finish the sentence, because Castiel seems to read his mind and simply nods, pleading with his eyes.

"Now you know why you cannot remain here. Soon it won't matter to me who you are, or who I am," Castiel says, and what hurts the most is that there's not the smallest trace of resentment or anger in his voice. Just sadness and urgency. "Will you please go now, Dean?"

He should, he knows it. It would be the rational thing to do, for both their sakes. But they've been through so much already, and now Dean can't imagine not having Castiel by his side, he needs him too fucking much. A stable, comforting presence in a messed up world, and he can't lose that. Can't afford it.

And he will. If he stays, he will. Castiel pretty much admitted how he will try to, and it's difficult to think the words _rape him_, but ignoring the truth won't make it disappear. Won't fix this mess.

Dean opens his mouth, but shuts it. He doesn't know what to say. Or if there's anything he could say. So he simply nods, and the look of relief that lights up Castiel's face is like a blow to Dean's gut. But it's not like this is a surprise. Whether he wants to admit it or not - and most of the time, Dean didn't want to think about it - Castiel would pretty much do anything for him. It was kinda obvious from the moment he had risked his entire existence for him at the beginning of the war, but thinking about it scared Dean. He wasn't a stranger to making grand sacrifices. Hell, it was a family tradition. Where other families went on road trips or picnics, Winchesters went to Hell for each other, but they were family, it was in their blood. Castiel… well, Dean had no clue what Castiel's reason was for making him, of all people and deities, the center of his world.

Turning on his heel, Dean straightens his shoulders, pulls out a flashlight from his jacket, and walks away. And with every new step, the light around him diminishes, but the weight in his chest grows heavier.

When even the last light from that oval niche where he'd left Castiel disappears, leaving him completely in dark, Dean stops dead in his track, feeling like a goddamn idiot. Stupid, selfish, ungrateful idiot.

Turning around, Dean starts running back, forgetting all about the flashlight in his hand, and it's a small miracle that he ends up back where he started without breaking anything in the process. Well, miracle and years of practice running through dark places.

When he bursts through the small entrance that was keeping the niche separated from the rest of the cave, he notices that Castiel is now sitting on the ground and leaning against the wall, keeping his eyes closed, his trench coat discarded beside him.

"What will happen to you?" Dean demands, striding determinately toward the angel, ignoring Castiel's look of shock at his reappearance. "If you don't get to…" Dean pauses, going over potential euphemisms for fuck someone in his head. "You know, act on what's that stuff's making you feel."

"Dean, why have you returned?" Castiel asks, and he really sounds desperate. No, he sounds scared, Dean corrects himself, and there's not a trace of his usual grace as he scrambles to his feet, backing away from Dean again. "It's becoming stronger, soon I won't…" breaking off, Castiel turns around, and Dean is left staring at the tense line of his shoulders, at the nervous flexing of his hands by his sides, suddenly aware of how much smaller Castiel looks without his coat. "Dean, please, just this one time, do what I ask of you." Castiel's voice is a soft, pleading whisper but it cuts like a knife, and Dean can feel his chest constricting at the word please, at the depth of emotion behind it. But he can't leave, not without knowing what will happen to Castiel. "I don't want to harm you."

Dean shakes his head. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Cas, but without your angel mojo, I can kick your ass without breaking a sweat," he says, surprised at the gentleness of his voice. He wasn't even aware he could make himself sound this way. "You can't do anything to me if I…" Dean cuts himself off, suddenly aware of the significance of his next words, knowing how he should feel scared of how true they are. "If I don't let you."

Dean frowns when Castiel moves, moves even further away, leaning his forehead and his hands against the stone wall, almost like he's unconsciously trying to get through the stone. There is something helpless and desperate in that gesture and it only shows just how much Castiel is terrified.

"I am still physically stronger than you, Dean," Castiel rasps, and Dean swallows at that particular piece of information. So there goes that safety net. "If I were to try to take…" Castiel's voice disintegrates into a sound between a growl and a cry of frustration and Dean takes an unconscious step backward. "Just go. Now."

Dean takes a deep breath, throwing a look at the exit, a part of him really wanting to obey Castiel's command, for a whole shitload of reasons, and yet what he actually does is put away the flashlight and straighten his shoulders. Not the first, and certainly not the last time he's done something insane and reckless, even though most of the time it was his life he was playing with, not his, well, virtue. Or whatever passes as that when it comes to him.

"You want me gone, Cas?" Dean asks. "Then answer my question."

"It is of no importance what will happen to me. Just that you're not here when this feeling becomes too strong for me to fight."

Dean throws a murderous glare at Castiel's back; wondering if this is how Sam was feeling a couple of years back when dealing with him. Angry and frustrated and helpless, a part of him wanting to say fuck this, and leave. Let Castiel deal with his problem alone, but he can't. Not until he hears that he'll be okay, maybe not now, but soon, and how this is going to be only a really embarrassing bad memory.

"It matters to me," Dean says firmly, making Castiel wince. "And the more you try to avoid answering my question; the smaller the chances of me leaving are becoming. Now, it's all up to you, Cas."

For several moments, nothing happens. Castiel doesn't move, and the only sound in the almost tangible silence of the cave is Castiel's harsh breathing. Dean has no clue why Castiel is withholding his answer, or even who had planted the false sword here and why. And when he thinks about it, he should probably care more about the latter. After all, Castiel is now pretty much useless. And no matter how good a fighter Dean is, he can't fight off Lucifer's demon pets. Not without angelic assistance.

All in all, he's screwed. Maybe even literally if he doesn't listen to Castiel. But it doesn't seem right to just leave Castiel alone here, at the mercy of who knows what. Not to mention how the damn, stubborn bastard still refuses to tell him about possible consequences of that stuff.

Deciding that he's had enough of status quo, and how staring at Castiel's shoulders resolves nothing, Dean crosses the space that separates him from the angel, having every intention of turning Castiel toward him, forcing an answer out him, but that's not what happens. The moment his hand touches Castiel's shoulder, a small, broken sound falls from Castiel's lips, and before Dean has a chance to react or even see Castiel moving, his back hits the wall, and a body presses against his, trapping him between… well, that saying referring to a rock and a _hard_ place never seemed more appropriate and literal than it does right now. With their bodies glued from neck to toe, Dean can feel every line of Castiel's body, and if he had any doubts about Castiel's current predicament, he doesn't anymore. It's kind of hard to deny it when the evidence of Castiel's arousal is digging into his hip.

Dean forces himself to stay still after he tries to extract his hands from Castiel's iron grip, accomplishing nothing, but proving that Castiel wasn't lying about still being physically stronger than Dean. And besides, his bucking and twisting has the unfortunate side effect of rubbing their groins together, and Dean's body obviously isn't on the same board with his mind, because a certain part of him likes the attention it's getting, and if there was ever a time for his dick to stay down, it's now.

The weird thing, though? Dean isn't afraid. Sure, there's embarrassment and guilt and worry, but not fear. Which is a wonder in itself, because he still remembers. Remembers how it felt to be held down and penetrated, every touch and every move inside him meant to hurt and humiliate. To break him. But he doesn't feel it now. Even when Castiel pins his wrists above his head, nuzzling his neck, his hips moving against Dean's, and the warm huffs of breath on his neck become a hesitant touch of lips, a stark contrast to the violence and despair that are in the heart of Castiel's actions.

So yeah, Dean doesn't feel afraid. But if he had a choice, he'd pick fear any day over what he's starting to feel. It's been a long time since he's had sex, and this, now, no matter how wrong, how blasphemous it is, is starting to affect him. Dean tries, he really does, tries to get his reactions under control, but his body doesn't seem to mind the angel part of this equation or the fact that Castiel doesn't really want this, how he's under the influence of some freaky demonic mojo. It doesn't even matter that Castiel had practically begged him to go so this wouldn't happen. All his body cares about is how soft and gentle Castiel's lips are as they move against his neck, how warm Castiel's body is against his, but most of all, how every time Castiel moves his hips, he rubs him just the right way, making his dick harder and his breathing heavier, and what's left of his conscious mind ashamed and desperate.

"Cas, please," those words fall from his lips without conscious thought, and even though Dean has no clue what he's pleading for, he knows it's not for Castiel to stop, but that's exactly what happens.

Castiel's body suddenly freezes against his, and for one long moment he simply stands still, his head leaning against Dean's shoulder, and Dean can feel every harsh breath that comes out of his mouth as he struggles for control, and then, as fast as he had Dean pinned against the wall, Castiel releases his hold on Dean's wrists and stumbles back, retreating from Dean until his back hits the wall on the opposite side of the cave.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel says in a voice that sounds nothing like his usual dispassionate tone. It's too high, too wrecked, but the look on his face – horror and guilt and shame – is what almost makes Dean double over and empty the entire content of his stomach. "I couldn't… I didn't want to… I'm sorry."

Dean's body sags against the cold stone, his throat working nervously, and he can feel hysterical laughter forming in the pit of his stomach, but he holds it back. His eyes wander towards Castiel's face again, but it hurts to look at him, so Dean shuts them.

Dean has never held any illusions of what he's capable of. Even if he had, Hell has made sure of tearing them apart and showing him the real Dean Winchester. But he would never have imagined that taking advantage of an angel could become a part of his ever growing list of sins. Sure, he could try to fool himself by saying how he didn't have a choice, how he was the weaker one here, but even if all that is true, so is the fact that his dick is still hard, his skin still tingling from Castiel's touches, and he has no spell or freaky sex pollen to hide behind. It's all him.

And Castiel has no freaking clue. Which is the worst part of this mess. The guy is half crazy from something he's never felt before and he's the one who was sane enough to stop what they were about to do. Just because he thought he was hurting Dean. And that thought makes Dean sick, but still not sick enough to make his hard-on go away. Not completely, anyway.

Taking a deep breath, Dean slowly opens his eyes, kicking himself inwardly when he sees how Castiel still looks miserable and guilty as hell. Also, like he would really like to crawl out of the human body he's wearing. Like his skin is too tight and getting tighter by the second, crushing him. And that's what finally draws Dean back to the here and now, and what's important. Castiel is important. Dealing with his problem, no matter how embarrassing, is what matters. All the rest – whys, what ifs, and Dean's own disturbing lack of self-control will have to wait.

"Cas, just calm down. I'm fine, you didn't hurt me," Dean says soothingly when he makes a step toward Castiel who throws a panicked look toward the exit, and Dean is caught between feeling both frustrated and strangely endeared by Castiel's look of a cornered wild animal. It makes him feel protective. Like Castiel is his to take care of. His responsibility. Like Sam, but not. Strangely enough, he has no problems with this notion. Not right now, but he suspects that he's going to have a major meltdown sometime in the future. "We need to get out of here, but first we need to deal with your…" smiling reassuringly, Dean is actually amazed by how firm his voice sounds, "problem."

"We?" Castiel asks, sounding genuinely confused. Like this is the first time he's heard that word.

"Yeah, Cas, we," Dean says, keeping his eyes fixed on Castiel's as he makes his slow progress toward him, not really sure if Castiel is getting the meaning behind his words. Behind his offer.

But then Castiel blinks, the haze of lust and confusion in his eyes clearing for one moment, only to be replaced by something infinitely sad. "Your sacrifice is not needed, Dean," Castiel says, his voice once again nothing like his usual tone, and Dean feels those words like a punch to the gut, the memories of what they've been through together flashing in rapid succession before his mind's eye, making him feel like the biggest jerk this world has ever seen. Has he really been taking advantage of whatever stupid sense of loyalty – although Dean knows it's not just that, has known it for some time now, just conveniently chose not to acknowledge it – Castiel feels toward him all this time? His mind whispers the answer, just one simple word, adding another mark on his already tarnished soul. "These sensations will pass eventually."

"How long is eventually?" Dean asks, not really interested in the answer, just keeping Castiel distracted.

"Why does it matter?"

"Well, you're in no shape to fight anyone now, and you've said it yourself, it's only going to become worse," Dean says calmly, still moving forward, still purposefully keeping Castiel's gaze with his own, afraid that he'd try to do something stupid, like run away, if Dean breaks eye contact. "And someone planted that damn thing here. Someone who knew an angel would one day come here, and he'd done it why? For fun? Or is there a market for angel porn out there?" Castiel frowns at that, but Dean just keeps talking, although it takes him a moment to force a seriously disturbing mental image involving Zachariah, Uriel and a bowl of ice cream out of his mind. "This has the word 'trap' written all over it and every second we stay here, it's a second too many."

Castiel looks at him, his frown deepening, but his eyes still stay clear. Well, clear of lust, anyway. "I haven't thought about that," he says slowly, like it's taking him a lot of strength to get the words past his lips. "But you are probably right. And that is just another reason why you must leave this place."

"Not leaving you behind," Dean says resolutely, making his final step toward Castiel whose eyes widen when he becomes aware of how little space is left between them. "We're a team, Cas. Have been for a long time now."

Whoever said eyes are the mirrors of the soul must have known Castiel, Dean is sure of it. It's all there – confusion, fear, frustration, but it's happiness - that naked, raw kind of a puppy kicked too many times – that slays him. Happiness that he matters enough to warrant this statement.

"Dean, I appreciate your offer, but this situation isn't something I ever thought would come up between us," Castiel says softly, but his posture tells a different story. Dean thinks he'll probably sprain something if he tenses more. Or try to blend with the stone behind him. "I might not know much about carnal pleasures, but I know enough. Enough to understand how important consent is."

"Consent isn't the issue here," Dean says hoarsely, hating how shaken he sounds even though he shouldn't be. And this has nothing to do with anything but fixing this mess, so they could get the hell out of here before someone or something decides to drop by. "And I'm not offering sex. You need to come, right?" A slow nod that comes after a moment of consideration. "Well, Cas, I can help you with that."

"Dean, I," Castiel starts, that glazed look creeping back slowly into his eyes, although it's clear how hard he tries to fight it.

"Look, Cas, let's not fight over this," Dean interrupts him impatiently, his voice sounding firmer now, though it's still a long way from the business-like tone he'd like, but then again, he is offering to jerk off a horny angel in a male body. And that thought alone is enough to make him want to laugh aloud or run as far away as he can, but all he does is take a deep breath, trying to make himself smile reassuringly. "This won't change anything between us, I promise. In fact, once we're out of this rat hole, we're never mentioning this again. Ever."

Castiel blinks, swallowing, the look in his eyes still caught between stubborn worry and lust. "I don't see how pretending will help," Castiel says, and Dean wants to roll his eyes at the sheer _angelness_ of his statement. "And silence cannot erase anything."

"Denial, Cas," Dean says, shrugging his shoulders. "It's a widely accepted coping mechanism among humans."

"I am not human, Dean," Castiel says, and Dean is sorely tempted to leave him alone just because the bastard really doesn't know when to quit.

Dean takes a deep breath. "Will you…" Dean starts, but changes his mind. There's really just one thing that matters now. "Do you trust me, Cas?"

"Yes," Castiel says without a second thought, like it goes without saying and with so much conviction it's slightly scary. Like he would say 'God is just', or some other holy crap that he's still insisting on. Even after Zachariah's little insurrection stunt. It makes Dean' heart skip a beat, and his mind lose its train of thought, but then Castiel shifts uncomfortably which draws Dean's eyes from his face to another part of him, bringing him back to the problem at hand. Which should soon be at Dean's hand, if Castiel stops acting like a stubborn idiot.

"Then relax and close your eyes," Dean says softly.

"Why?"

_So I won't freak out_, is the truth, but in the interest of getting this over with, Dean goes with the half-lie. "It'll feel better, trust me. I do this all the time," Dean says, mentally cringing at the words coming out of his mouth. "Just close your eyes and think about something that makes you…" Dean almost says happy, but since he has pretty good idea what that would be, he decides that what he's about to do will be blasphemous enough without Castiel thinking of his home or God while Dean is jerking him off. "Forget that. Just close your eyes."

When Castiel obeys, Dean is suddenly struck by the knowledge of what he's about to do. It was fine until now, when he had to convince Castiel, but now he actually has to do it. But it's just a simple hand-job, right? It shouldn't even last long, not since Castiel has never had anyone do this for him. Which would make Dean his first, and that thought doesn't help in the slightest. It only adds the words virgin and innocent to the already long list of words Dean would prefer not to think about right now.

Clearing his throat, Dean slowly takes off his jacket, trying to ignore the sudden rush of power at the sight Castiel is presenting now – body pliant and relaxed against the stone behind him, arms stretched slightly, almost invitingly by his sides while his chest rises and falls with deep breaths, but it's his face Dean's eyes are drawn to the most – serene despite the circumstances, and for the first time, Dean wishes that Castiel had chosen some other vessel for himself because the body of Jimmy Novak plus Castiel suddenly equals beautiful in Dean's mind.

Startled, Dean sucks in a harsh breath, reminding himself of the purpose of this. It's not like the meaningless sex he's gotten used to over the years, meant to get him off, and it sure as hell doesn't come anywhere near making love, it's just something that needs to be done. Impersonal, clinical. Like getting a weird physical.

Or that's what Dean tells himself as he unbuckles Castiel's belt and unzips his pants, all the while trying to avoid acknowledging how Castiel's body tenses when Dean touches him only to relax again, his eyelashes fluttering, but then Dean's hand closes around Castiel's hard dick and a startled moan falls from Castiel's lips, his eyes snapping open, and Dean feels like he's walked right into a trap of his own making. Because this being clinical and impersonal? Not even in the same fucking universe. And he hasn't even started doing anything yet.

Dean moves his hand slowly, experimentally up Castiel's length, although if it were him on the receiving end, he'd call it teasingly, not really sure what the hell he's trying to accomplish, but pretty fucking sure that he shouldn't enjoy the way the hard flesh in his hand twitches and swells further under his ministrations, how Castiel's breathing turns shallow, but, most of all, that look of startled awe in the almost black eyes staring at him now. Only, he does. And doesn't want to stop.

He moves his hand slowly along the length of Castiel's dick, then faster, circling the head with his thumb, teasing and tormenting, trying to find exactly what makes Castiel moan and what makes him whimper. What makes him shut his eyes and arch his neck, his hands gripping the hard stone behind him for support.

Dean's own breathing becomes irregular, warmth rushing through his body and pooling in the pit of his stomach, his dick impossibly hard in the confines of his jeans, and it makes him wonder if Castiel was wrong. Maybe that yellow stuff works on humans too. Maybe it's that stuff that makes him close the remaining distance from Castiel and lick the sheen of sweat on Castiel's neck, maybe that's what makes him tug one of Castiel's hands and place it against the bulge in his jeans and whisper in a voice sandpaper rough, "Cas, open your eyes."

But then Castiel obeys and opens his eyes and the look in them – pain and pleasure, wonder and fear all rolled into one – gives him his answer. It's not that stuff, it's Castiel.

"Move your hand, Cas," Dean whispers fervently, speeding his strokes, caught between two equally strong desires – to finish this and to make it last forever. "Please," he adds when Castiel's hand stays still, like he's not really sure what he's supposed to do, but then he moves it slowly, and Dean moans, leaning his forehead against Castiel's. "More."

Castiel obeys. He tugs on the zipper of Dean's jeans, and Dean has to bite his lips in order to keep from whimpering when Castiel's hand closes around his dick. And the thought alone, having an angel doing this to him is so wrong and blasphemous, and yet so damn hot that Dean almost comes then and there. And then Castiel moves his hand, and this time Dean can't stop himself from whimpering.

Castiel tries to match his movements with Dean's – rough and fast, slow and gentle, and everything blurs around Dean, inside him, memories of days past, of everything Castiel and he have been through twining with here and now, with the way Castiel looks at him now, fierce and focused, even as his breath comes out in short gasps and all the blue from his eyes has turned black, making this seem only logical. Like it was meant to be. "Let go, Cas," he orders, begs, he's not sure which, when he feels himself getting close. "Now."

And Castiel does. It takes Dean only two more strokes and then his hand is suddenly wet, and Castiel's body sags against his, a choked moan in the shape of his name tearing from Castiel's lips. And that's enough to push Dean over the edge.

Dean's mind blackens for a moment, his orgasm hitting him with a force of a sledgehammer, but when he comes to, he becomes aware of the way his head is nestled in the crook of Castiel's shoulder, one of his hands gripping Castiel's neck almost desperately, the other his hip, and then he remembers everything, what he has done, what he made Castiel do, and it makes his knees buckle and he'd fall if not for the strong arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Slowly, Dean forces himself to lift his head, even though it's the last thing he wants. He'd actually sell his soul to avoid facing Castiel now, but after what just happened, an apology is the least he can offer.

But when he finally meets Castiel's eyes, there's no accusation or disgust in them, the lust is gone as well, but so is that slightly detached expression that Castiel has had as long as Dean has known him, replaced by something Dean doesn't know how to name. He could try, but the word that comes closest to explaining all those conflicted emotions in Castiel's eyes is too big, too scary to contemplate.

"Cas, I," Dean begins, not really sure if he should apologize first or ask Castiel about the effects of that yellow stuff. Or even offer to let Castiel kick his ass. He never gets to find out, though.

When Castiel kisses him – clumsy, close mouthed kiss – Dean is at first too surprised to react, his body freezing against Castiel's. So he doesn't do anything while Castiel moves his lips against his. And he's not really sure how to react. How to take this kiss. As an offer? Invitation? Forgiveness? Declaration of something Dean's not ready to deal with yet? It's when Castiel pulls from him, a small, resigned sigh ghosting over Dean's face while something flickers and disappears inside Castiel's eyes that Dean's decides to take the kiss as all the above.

So when he pulls Castiel's head back and kisses him, fierce and demanding, Dean realizes that even though he had come here to find the weapon capable of killing Lucifer what he has found instead could be even more valuable. Or his final step toward damnation.

But as Castiel's lips part under his, Dean decides he doesn't give a damn.


End file.
